<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Number One by ballontime</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797955">Number One</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballontime/pseuds/ballontime'>ballontime</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Anxiety, Childhood Trauma, Hotel Oblivion, Isolation, The Umbrella Academy (TV) Season 2 Spoilers, The Umbrella Academy (TV) Spoilers, the sparrow academy - Freeform</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-20 22:22:49</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,470</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25797955</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/ballontime/pseuds/ballontime</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When the children of the Sparrow Academy are still young, Reginald Hargreeves decides that his Number One needs specialized training to reach his full potential as the leader among his siblings, and he decides he must start early.</p><p>Or,</p><p>What if in the new timeline created at the end of Season 2, Number One is isolated as a child instead of Number Seven.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Number One</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I made this because I couldn't stop theorizing about the new timeline, and since Ben is my favorite character, this idea stuck to my brain, and I thought why not make it a thing.</p><p>Also this story is assuming that Ben is the Number One of the Sparrow Academy in the new timeline. I’m also assuming that all the other siblings are powered kids we’ve never met, so when I reference other siblings, they aren’t based on the Umbrella Academy kids. This all could very well turn out to be not true in season 3 but that’s fine :)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The first week it happened, the children thought nothing of it. Their brother, Number One, was not present at breakfast the day after their ninth birthday. As their father sat at the head of the table, no one asked for an explanation, yet they all exchanged confused glances, only forgetting about the anomaly once food was placed in front of them.</p><p>The children had almost decided to write it off when Number One was sitting at his usual spot at the lunch table, directly across from their father. As per the rules, no one asked him where he had been, and Number One certainly offered no explanation. Number Two, who sat adjacent to Number One, noticed his brother’s tie was loose.</p><p>The next week it happened, it was harder to ignore. Number One had not been present during the one hour of break time on Sunday, nor had he been present at any morning meal after October 1st. He no longer spent time with his siblings after dinner, always being summoned by their father the moment the meal was finished, and never returning to his room until long after his siblings were asleep. </p><p>Number One was surprised at how quickly his siblings accepted his sudden absence. His father had told him that he needed “special training” to reach his full potential, and that it was important to start early. Number One had not questioned him, as he never had, and yet he still found himself wishing for the company of his siblings. When Number One voiced this thought, his father had assured him that the feeling would pass. As always, Number One thought, he was right.</p><p>Under Number One’s new schedule, he started the morning late, skipping a family breakfast and instead downing a bowl of cereal before beginning his first training session of the day. After two hours of combat training he studied various subjects under the supervision of his father, all while his siblings had classes together with hired tutors. Then, a brief lunch, and back to training. Number One’s afternoons consisted of agility training and strength training, then two hours of studying before dinner. </p><p>Under Number One’s new schedule, dinner was the last moment of the day he had to look forward to. It was those final minutes spent sitting in silence with his siblings that he longed to return to when the time came for his final training session of the day. Endurance.</p><p>In mere days, Number One knew the drill. When he heard the clang of his father’s silverware against his empty plate, it was time to leave. Number One would rise to follow his father out of the room, and Number One liked to imagine his siblings staring after him, wondering what special place he was going to with their father and wishing it was them. His fantasy was only true for the first couple of months. </p><p>Number One would follow his father in silence down to the lowest floor of the Academy, and he would be led through a blue door. The door opened into a small observing space with screens and monitors mounted on the walls, and an observing window that took up the entire wall. A heavy metal door off to the side led to a perfectly square room with cold stone walls and a padded table with straps hanging off its sides in the middle of the floor. </p><p>“In order to reach your full potential as a leader,” his father would say, “you must first learn to coexist with what lives inside of you.”</p><p>The first session was the worst one. Number One remembered trying his hardest to mask his trembling as one of his father’s assistants tightened the restraints around him to ensure he could not move an inch from his position on the table. He had stared at the empty ceiling above him, and tried to look at his father through the window only to see himself staring back from the mirror on the wall. </p><p>His father’s voice sounded scratchy on the intercom, as he spoke “Let us begin, Number One. Release the Horror.”</p><p>Number One didn’t move at that, only winced at his father’s reference to his own unfortunate power. After remaining still for several more seconds, his father’s voice rang out again, this time clearer: “Number One, do you want to fall behind your siblings?”</p><p>Number One did as he was told. That first day, he could only last ten seconds before starting to squirm on the table. It was a feeling he was not yet used to, the feeling of his organs shifting and being compressed, the feeling of his breath being pushed out of him all at once, the feeling of something far more powerful than him looming over his head, pressing down on his small form.</p><p>After twenty seconds, Number One was crying out to his father, telling him that it hurt, telling him that he wanted to stop now. His father did not give him the order to stop until ten seconds later. </p><p>Once he had drawn in the Horror, the assistant came back in and loosened the restraints. The moment he could move, Number One turned to his side and threw up on the stone floor, then used his sleeve to wipe the tears from his face. </p><p>He layed there in silence for several minutes, breathing heavily as the assistant stood and watched him. Kept guard. The sudden noise of his father’s voice made Number One tense. “I trust you will be able to do better next time.” With that, the assistant pulled the straps taut, causing Number One to jolt as he attempted to squeeze his way out of the restraints. Before he knew it, however, he was right back where he started.</p><p>It was this first day that Number One learned that one try was not good enough. He went on like this for two hours, going back and forth between trying to control the Horror and hurling over the side of the table. He never got much further than forty-five seconds, oftentimes not waiting for his father’s order to withdraw the creature back into him.</p><p>He was sent back to his room at 11 o’clock. Despite his exhaustion, he made sure to tread lightly as he passed his siblings’ rooms, no light coming from within them. He cleaned himself up, dressed for sleep, and got under the covers of his bed. In time, this bed would come to remind him of the table in the stone room, and the heavy blankets would remind him of the rough straps that kept him held down, but for now he let sleep take him over, wondering as he drifted off if his siblings had heard his screams.</p><p> </p><p>They had not, Number One concluded, after two team training sessions passed without anyone commenting on his absence from what used to be the normal schedule. Under Number One’s new schedule, he only trained with his siblings three times a week for an hour and a half on the afternoons of Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. His father had told him that participating in group training was necessary to ensure his siblings respected him as the leader. Number One was just glad to be with his brothers and sisters.</p><p>After group training, Number One’s siblings had their scheduled classes followed by dinner. Number One never got used to seeing his siblings split off into groups to walk to their classrooms, leaning into each other and whispering, giggling at the remembrance of some comment someone made during math class. Number One was left to stand there, watching the threads that tied him to his siblings get pulled thinner and thinner, only to be called to the opposite side of the Academy for private tutoring.</p><p>“The rest of the children must respect you,” his father would say. “They must understand that you are different from them, that in a combat situation you will always know best.” </p><p>Number One’s training continued. </p><p>After six months of late nights, he could last for a minute with no problems. His father told him, “You have more potential than your siblings.”</p><p>After a year, he could last twenty minutes. His father told him, “You are already far stronger than they are.”</p><p>After two years, an hour. “You will always be the most important asset on the team.”</p><p>By the time Number One was thirteen, it was clear that the restraints were not necessary. The stone room was altered, an armchair now occupying the middle with several bookshelves lining the walls. His nights now consisted of reading any book he wanted to while letting the Horror free, a deviation from the usual limited reading choices his father provided his siblings. Number One was never sure if the pain of releasing the Horror had subsided, or if he had just gotten used to it. He felt proud that he was finally the leader his father believed he could be, and he often stared into the mirror on the wall hoping that his father was looking back at him. Number One never found out that after all those years, his father still averted his gaze when the Horror was present, even leaving the room to be in his study rather than watch what he considered to be a putrid display.</p><p>Number One stopped paying attention to the glances his siblings would give each other during mealtimes, the smirking and silent laughing that only signified how much of a unit they were. There were times when Number One would wonder if his private schedule was counterproductive; wouldn’t they work better as a team if their leader was always present?</p><p>He had asked his father once, and his father had scoffed in response. “If your siblings see you as a friend, they will not listen to you. You are in the perfect position to hold this team together.” He would then reference the missions they had already gone on, and how flawlessly the Academy’s plans had been carried out. The Sparrow Academy made their debut when they were eleven, and Number One had been their spokesperson. Ever since then, the children and their father had been praised for their efficiency and teamwork, and they had gone on countless missions, big and small, over the following years. </p><p>When his father brought this up, Number One could not help but shrink into himself. It all made sense, he thought. Of course his father had everything planned out. He always felt foolish for questioning his father’s will, and over time he did it less and less. He did not like the sense of embarrassment that came with it, and he taught himself to place his full trust in his father.</p><p>On the children’s fifteenth birthday, things changed. After a special dinner of the children’s favorite foods, Number One stood at the sound of his father’s silverware being set down, already expecting a long night of training that was little more to him now than a minor annoyance. Before he could step away from the table, his father motioned with his open palm for Number One to stop.</p><p>“Starting now, Number One will resume his normal schedule and will be present in group classes,” he said, addressing the six children that still sat at the table. Number One stared at his father, eyes growing wider, but the old man simply turned and left the room with no further acknowledgement. </p><p>As the door slammed shut, Number One became painfully aware of the twelve eyes that now rested on him. Number One met every one of their gazes, yet could not read them. They had become strangers to him. He felt his cheeks burning at the silence that had yet to be broken and their expressionless faces staring into him. He quickly turned and ran out of the dining room. No one followed him.</p><p>After getting ready for bed before the rest of his siblings and shutting himself in his room, he found himself staring at the dark wall of his room. He rarely slept in his bed anymore, opting for his desk chair, which he insisted was more comfortable anyway. He was angry at himself for his gross display of weakness at the dinner table. A real leader would have simply sat back down and started conversing like the rest of them, but he was not a real leader yet. He was still weak, and now he was sure that his siblings thought he was weak too. </p><p> </p><p>The following weeks were difficult for Number One. Even though his position in the family earned him a seat at the front of every classroom, he found himself wishing he sat further back so he could whisper and giggle with his siblings. And Number One had convinced himself that they were all staring at the back of his head, watching his every move, waiting for the right sign that he was not the leader after all.</p><p>Number Six, the nicest member of the Academy, always made an effort to include Number One in their conversations during off time, or would invite him to late night meetings in the attic, a tradition the other siblings had started when they were twelve. Number One appreciated it, but quickly found that the presence of all his siblings made his chest get a little heavier, his break get shorter, and he would sweat as he spoke, being constantly worried that he was saying the wrong things.</p><p>Despite his reservations, Number One easily slid into the role of leader among his siblings. They trusted him to make tough calls and develop plans, both on missions and at the Academy. During group training, Number One consistently awed his siblings when demonstrating the level of control he had over the Horror, something they had never seen. It was their looks of amazement that assured Number One that those years of training were worth it. </p><p>When they weren’t training or on a mission, Number One still became somewhat of an authority among the Academy students. He was able to convince his siblings not to sneak out at night, reminding them that they would surely be caught, and that their father would not approve of that kind of behavior. He told them that they should always strive for the highest grades in their academic classes, because that knowledge would help them later in life. To his siblings, all of it sounded like the words of their father coming out of their brother’s mouth, but they also could not go against what they were taught: “Number One knows best.”</p><p>By the time the Academy was eighteen, all appeared well. The siblings would laugh together and fight together, finally a unit. Graduating from their academic classes prompted them to spend the whole night out in the city, passing the hours bowling and spending all their allowance money on food and new clothes (with permission from their father, of course). Their missions had never gone better.</p><p>But there was something unquantifiable still there, something invisible but ever present with every meal and training session and talks in the bathroom as the siblings prepared to sleep. It was those six years Number One couldn’t get back, those hours he spent studying in isolation while his siblings enjoyed their free time on the roof, the times that his siblings would laugh at jokes Number One could never understand. The rift was too great, too wide to pass over; the damage was done.</p><p>Number One didn’t like thinking about how formal some of his siblings sounded when speaking to him. He didn’t like that even Number Five, the one who was never afraid to pull pranks and break the rules, assumed that Number One could never be interested in anything other than excellence. He didn’t like that despite being told he was the most important member of the team, he felt utterly insignificant. </p><p>As a personal rule, Number One had already decided that confiding in his father about any sort of feelings he was having was bound to be counterproductive and result in him feeling even more alone, so he chose to keep it to himself.</p><p>Number One didn’t notice immediately, but soon after making this choice his behavior changed. He would feel trapped in his room, so he would move to the hallway, only to feel trapped by the house. He would then move to the courtyard, staring up at the square of sky visible above the dying trees that lined the space, that sky that rose high above the looming walls of the Academy. He felt trapped in his own mind.</p><p>On missions, he became less hesitant. He tossed aside non-civilians that stood in his way with ease, and with no second thought about how badly he harmed them. They all started to look the same to him. </p><p>He lashed out more at his siblings. They didn’t want to be around him anyways, why should he act like he wanted to be around them? Desperation was weak, Number One thought. A real leader wouldn’t be pining for approval, they would just get the job done.</p><p>Finally, he began to resent his father. The seed of doubt that had been planted in the deepest corner of his brain on his very first day of private training began to grow. It started small; Number One would no longer stand up straight when lined up with his siblings to be addressed by their father. His gaze at his father, which was once so intense and reverent, became disinterested. </p><p>Number One began to notice this change when he no longer jumped to defend his father when his siblings questioned his methods. He caught himself, and instead spewed some line about respecting the man and reminding them that they had a duty to the world, but even his siblings could tell his heart wasn’t in it anymore. </p><p>Number One would lay awake at night and suddenly become aware of his body, aware of his place in the world, and aware of his smallness. The light from the moon illuminating the far side of his room would look otherworldly, its own entity that did not rely on seven super powered teenagers to exist. The view of the city from his window looked like another dimension, people driving cars and walking down the sidewalks, holding bags, children, each other. All separate, Number One realized, from him. He remembered reading about the feeling: sonder. The sudden awareness that everyone around you lives their own life with vivid experience, a life which you may only catch a glimpse of in passing. Looking out the window, he felt millions of miles away from all those lives. There he was, almost twenty-one years old, living in his dad’s house and putting on a costume to fight crime every other week. Being called by a number instead of a name. What he wouldn’t give to stop existing as Number One and start existing as Jonathan, the barista on the coffee shop on the corner, or as Reyna, the woman who sold flowers out of the back of her car, living as someone that knew nothing of being the child of Reginald Hargreeves.</p><p>Number One hated that he couldn’t bring himself to act on his desires. He hated that even now, after years of thinking he was becoming the best version of himself, he wasn’t strong enough. He didn’t bother to talk to his siblings, he told himself they wouldn’t understand. Leaving the Academy was not an option; he had been told over and over again that his absence would result in the team falling apart, and he had a duty to the world. </p><p>The only logical option in Number One’s head was to do nothing. It was the path of least resistance, the path of least shame and embarrassment, the path that gave him a roof over his head.</p><p>Time ticked on, and missions came and went. The feeling of distortion and sickness returned when the Horror was released, and Number One began to take painkillers to dull the everlasting ache he felt in his body every waking minute of every day. The only respite he received was in sleep, when he wasn’t conscious to feel the Horror pressing against his skin, speaking to him, asking to be released, asking for more room.</p><p>When They didn’t allow him to sleep, he would picture a life outside of the Academy. He was never much into writing, but he imagined he would do well as an author. He imagined attending a university, introducing himself by a real name, finding real friends. He imagined some invisible force carrying him away from the Sparrow Academy, away from the halls he had grown to despise.</p><p>Luckily, when Number One was twenty years old, something did.</p>
  </div></div>
</body>
</html>